


Glimpses of...

by justsimplymeagain



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsimplymeagain/pseuds/justsimplymeagain
Summary: ... bits and pieces of the life of one angel and one demon.





	1. Chapter 1

_“You remember Sandalphon?”_

Yes, yes Aziraphale does. Sodom, Gomorrah – there was a lot of smiting and turning people into salt to simply put it. And Aziraphale says as much, wanting to get through this rather uncomfortable interaction as quickly as hum- angelically possible.

It was a blessing, one he sends upward that the interaction didn’t last much longer.

But it did leave an awful taste in his mouth from the lack of knowledge his two colleges held in regards to humans and for the near light-heartedness view of the balding angels acts. If Aziraphale dedicated any time of thinking back, he could remember a time when a sword in hand was just as if not more comfortable as a book was. Had Sandalphon known him then – Aziraphale could have given the angel a run for his money. Only it wasn’t people being turned to salt then, it was siblings and falling and utter chaotic painful turmoil.

No, he’s seen the consequences of being good at what Sandalphon seems so proud of. He’s seen the damage of what flaming swords can do. And he doesn’t want to revisit that time – doesn’t want another war and certainly doesn’t want to get comfortable with a sword once more.

Aziraphale was silently grateful – for the act of giving that sword away.

With a few deep breaths, he pushed the interaction and everything to do with it aside just enough to push forward. There was the problem of an Apocalypse to be dealt with after all.

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	2. 55. “I fell in love with my best friend.”

Demons, they don’t say things like love. They don’t even say like, and barely even tolerate.

However, for Crowley saying things along the line of like and tolerate is fine, even though he hardly admits to it. And normally that was good enough. Normally he didn’t feel the need to express himself in any other way but tolerance and humouring – going so far as going out of his way, playing a part and doing the dirty work when possible. That was normally how he said that four-letter word. Like. Love.

Above all of that, Demons aren’t even supposed to be capable of it. Not an ounce. They weren’t built for it.

And yet here he stood in a bookshop renewed and the world still spinning and trials over and done with; more afraid than he has ever been since - well he didn’t want to recount the last time he was this afraid. Whether it was in a burning bookshop or – or falling…

“What - ?” The angel – his angel spoke. Crowley can still remember being told that he moved too fast for Aziraphale. And he still does, clearly, given how stunned and unsure Aziraphale seemed to be.

Crowley wished he could take it back. Go back to saying it through gestures of tolerance and going out of his way.

Only he can’t – he probably ruined everything.

“I’m so- forget what I said. It was the alcohol.” Only he didn’t have a drop today. Turning to walk – flee out of the bookshop he barely registered his name being called. Got so far as his Bentley before a hand caught him and turned him around. Crowley barely registered the people walking on the sidewalk, all he could focus on was Aziraphale. Always Aziraphale.

“What did you say?” Aziraphale asked him, almost unsure himself. Almost like the angel didn’t know he heard correctly. It was painful, having to face his own possible mistake and face the fact that he probably ruined things. He just wanted to go sleep until everything was – was different. Again. He tried to sidestep what he said, tried everything but outright saying it. At least until a hand cupped the side of his face causing his words to trail into silence.

“I do believe you said – I fell in love with my best friend – did I not hear you correctly, dear Crowley.” Aziraphale said, voice soft and softer than he normally has it for anyone other than Crowley. Yes, Crowley notices things like that. He knows that Aziraphale likes to keep up images, but oftentimes the angel was nothing more than polite and neighbourly with the common human only the odd one gets something more genuine than unattached politeness.

Shaking his head, letting a bitter sound escape without his notice, Crowley reprimanded himself by saying, “I know, I move too fast.”

The angel smiled, it was a bit sad and a bit shy and filled with a blinding array of something he didn’t expect in return.

Love.

“You did, but only because you were far braver then I and I was afraid.” Aziraphale admitted, moving his second hand to cup the other side of Crowley’s face. It took everything to not move his own hands to cover his angel’s. Instead, he stayed boneless between his Bentley and his angel. Only until it registered what Aziraphale said did he force himself to stand up a little straighter and say, “Afraid? Whatever were you afraid of… me? What I am?”

Resentment towards himself and anger that the angel before him even felt an ounce of fear.

“No dear, what I am.” That was shocking and so incredibly wrong.

“Why?” Crowley asked, curling his fingers loosely around Aziraphale’s wrists. The angel seemed sad for a moment, it won’t be until later that Aziraphale confesses to Crowley that over the years he did come to think of himself in such a lowly manner. Soft. Failure. Other things Crowley didn’t want to think about – but did when alone and was free to seethe in utter fiery contempt.

His angel didn’t think himself good enough for Crowley.

He would spend the rest of his existence proving to Aziraphale just how worthy and good he was. He was the kind of angel that others should try to be. And if Crowley made things just a bit more difficult for any angel he crossed paths with – particularly a few he shall not name – well that was for him to know.

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	3. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”

Crowley could do nothing but stand in utter silence. Emotions were something he couldn’t show, his shame and sorrow, his anger and rage – he couldn’t show any of it. Not as demons sing him praises, not as Beelzebub welcomes him back with a wicked grin on their face.

He was welcomed back, but at a cost.

One he feared, but thought would never have come to pass.

His dearest friend, his angel – fell.

And like him, it was from hanging around the wrong angels or in this case – demons. More specifically – him.

Before him, in an open room, a sad sight curled on the ground. Demons walking around the flinching figure, wings tattered and tarred. Clothing once pristine and well cared for in tatters and soiled. Feet bloodied, hands bloodied. Face wet with tears and a throat no doubt hoarse from screams. Yes, Crowley could remember his own fall all too well. Some days it was hard to stir and harder to function.

All he did was ask questions!

What was so wrong with why?

Eventually, everyone left – forced back to work. Most patting him on the back, welcoming him back as they went. All that did was add insult to injury – only he wasn’t sure if it was just his own as he could see dulled sad eyes peeking out from between bloodied hands.

Once he was satisfied that no one was here to bear witness to Crowley’s worst nightmare and Aziraphale’s shame he moved forward, carefully getting to his knees. Carefully – slowly reaching for the shaking an-former angel before him.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley whispered, reassuring that it was him and not some random cruel twisted demon wearing his face. Once he was sure, he took his angel- former angel into his hands and held him tight, tucking a tear-stained face into his neck as he spread his own blackened wings and thought of one place that could be safe to go. One place he knew Aziraphale would feel at home in.

The Bookshop, thankfully it was still present. There was a cup of cocoa that was now cold on the desk. It spoke of the hours that have passed.

It would take hours of comforting and tears by both of them, and confessions from Crowley:

_“I didn’t want it to come to this.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“This wasn’t supposed to happen to you… not to you. Never you…”_

Eventually, Aziraphale would speak up, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I know – I know you didn’t want this. I know you wouldn’t wish this on me. B-but there was nothing left for me in heav – there because you weren’t there and it has become so cold and distant – cruel even. I see that now, I’ve seen that before my fall. So it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“How! Why? How can it be okay?!” Crowley demanded – needed to know. How can anyone be okay with what happened? How could **_she_ **be okay with one of her purest angels being cast out? Aziraphale only smiled and curled into his embrace as far as the fallen angel could. The smile was watery, small even but it was there. There was fear as well. Crowley wanted to – perhaps for the first time in a long time, slaughter whatever-whoever put that fear in Aziraphale.

“It’s okay because you’re here.” Aziraphale stated, so sure of those words. There was a tentative and shy smile, “You’ll still have me? Even if I’m not an angel anymore? Right?” That fear again. Crowley wanted to rip himself apart. Has he done anything at all to make his angel fear the worst of him?

“Always, until the last of the stars die out and beyond Aziraphale. You’ll always have me.” Crowley promised and he meant it.

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

The apocalypse was no longer a threat, at least for now, everyone has gone to their own respective homes and places of dwelling. The problem with the trials held by Heaven and Hell were dealt with as well. One less thing to worry about, or so Aziraphale had thought.

Crowley went to his flat.

Aziraphale to his bookshop.

That has been a week ago. Aziraphale checked in, and Crowley has checked in with him. Both of them making sure the other was okay and safe. It ached to have a distance between them now, especially with the fact that Aziraphale has now accepted and saw that they truly were on their own side after all. Always have been. But with that revelation, and finding out that his side or what used to be his side was never interested in saving everyone like he childishly clung to – Aziraphale could only reflect on how much hurt he must have caused with his careless words and careless actions. Bullheaded his way through 6000 years. How cruel.

“Oh... oh my heart.” It hurt. It was a pain like nothing else.

Aziraphale didn't know what hurt worse, his faith being shattered or – no, no he knew what hurt worse than that.

Crowley. He put his best friend through so much, spoke down to him. Behaved in a holier than thou manner and accused Crowley of telling lies simply because he was a demon. He let that fact stand in the way of what he knew about the man-his friend.

“I am a terrible, terrible friend.” Aziraphale confessed to a silent room. How was it that Crowley was still his friend after everything. What did he do to deserve that sort of loyalty?

“Horrible.”

“Bad...”

It was only when a hand stopped him that he realized he wasn't alone and that he -

\- oh dear...

He didn't even realize what he was doing until he looked down at his own hands and saw handfuls of white feathers. And only now felt the sharp pain in his wings. Only now realized his face was wet. It took less than a moment to realize that it was Crowley who held his wrists firmly in hand. The demon shocked into silence, or at least he was until anger and outrage were written on his face. Glasses still firmly in place, and maybe that was a good thing for once. Guilt would make it hard to look into those beautiful eyes.

“What in the-” Crowley started to spit out, no doubt vulgar language tied into his speech but it was never finished as the demon seemed to try to collect himself. Letting go of Aziraphale who now realized he was kneeling on the ground, wings looking horrid and sagging.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale tried, the demon didn't acknowledge him for a moment and Aziraphale sunk slightly lower. Wondering if the floor beneath him could cave in. Any minute now.

“Why are you, torturing your – why? You didn't answer, it's been hours. I tried phoning seven times already. Who – what happened for you to -” Aziraphale could tell that Crowley couldn't articulate himself well, hissing cutting in when sentences cut out as he waved in the direction of his wings. There truly was a decent amount of feathers laying on the ground. Some bloodied, he didn't realize he tore at them that badly.

Unfortunately, that and seeing the frantic and worried state his friend was in was all it took for Aziraphale to cry and confess. He's been a terrible, terrible friend and a bad angel. He was horrible, not good.

Ending his confession with a nearly sobbed version of, “I'm so so sorry.”

There were many things he felt he would deserve – and he got none of them. Instead, he was shocked at being pulled into a gentle hug as black shadows of wings curled around him and tucking his own tattered wings safely within the demons embrace.

“I'm only going to say this once, only once so listen carefully angel. You are forgiven, I forgive you and have a long time ago. I understand why you did what you did, said what you said. Doesn't make it all right, not saying that but it's understandable and you and I have too much history for us to let go of over looming apocalypses and conditioning. The important thing is that we are still here, we're okay and we have time to live in the here and now.” Crowley's voice was softer than most would believe it to be with all the shade and sass he can through around without an ounce of hesitation. It made Aziraphale feel warm that he was privileged to be able to see the softer parts and the secret parts of Crowley. Trusted with those secrets, even when he wasn't as deserving.

“And fix things...”Aziraphale wants to fix things, make things better. Be the friend that Crowley clearly believes him to be still. Can he, would he be allowed? Would Crowley still have him? There was a soft almost sad sigh before Crowley's hold on him, wings and arms tightened. It reminded him of a snake coiling around him.

“Yes angel, fix things too. No more tearing at your wings and missing phone calls from me. Things will be okay.” Crowley agreed and Aziraphale felt himself melt into the embrace completely, feeling just a touch more hopeful than before. He was a horrible friend, but they could fix that. He could fix things, be the friend that Crowley views him as. Be better than he was before.

“No more tearing at my wings...” Aziraphale reassured.

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	5. Chapter 5

Of course, he couldn't leave well enough. Gabriel, the archangel of being a total stuck up dick in Crowley's opinion. Sure he knows the official titles, but he would forever prefer his own. The stuck up archangel with holier than though attitude waltzed right into Aziraphale's bookshop on what was turning out to be a fantastic day now a total and utter mess and horrible. A few words, a few well-placed jabs and his beautiful gentle loyal to a fault angel was a stuttering mess and trying to make himself as small as possible as he stood there not quite meeting Gabriel's smug expression.

Things weren't going well now that he was not allowed his war. So of course, he came here to take it out on Aziraphale.

Only he didn't foresee the fact that Crowley was there. Sure he was curled under a heat lamp tucked out of sight, but he was still in full view and within hearing range of the whole mess. And he's had enough. They were on their own side, 6000 thousand years of staying silent was done and gone.

“See... soft, if you weren't you wouldn't be -” Gabriel spewed out, only to be interrupted by a hissed angered response, “He wouldn't be Aziraphale.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale's voice sounded like he was surprised that Crowley was there like he forgot that his demon was there more days than not now.

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something but Crowley hissed at him to be quiet. He may have called him a dickhead as well, which got him a slight disapproval look from Aziraphale. His angel wasn't fond of vulgar words, which made it more enjoyable to wring them out of him in more pleasurable settings.

“You ever think of the fact that Aziraphale was made to be exactly who he is. Soft yes, but not weak or lesser. Soft is a good thing. Stop making it sound like it's a bad thing when it takes far more courage to be soft and still love and still trust the world even after all the shit dealt out to you by 'superior beings' of fitness and shit attitudes.” Crowley

“What would you know about any of that, you're a demon.” Gabriel was angry, Crowley had to keep himself from flinching back as he could feel that anger spreading throughout the space. If it kept going, he might just get burnt for it. Aziraphale seemed shell-shocked at best, staring at Crowley. If he were to look closer, he could see the warmth and gratefulness there as well.

“Yeah, I am. Sad isn't it that a demon knows more about this then an archangel like yourself. Pretty fucked up I'd say.” Crowley snapped, and it was. Who would have thought that a demon was able to comprehend this unflinchingly and an archangel was either in deep denial or completely naive to everything but his own ass.

Of course, this started an argument between Crowley and Gabriel that wound up with his throat tightly held as he was pushed into a table knocking some of the books off. Wings were out, eyes were glowing with rage and Crowley was grinning madly all the while panicking inside.

“That's enough!” And with that, Gabriel was being pulled away from him and his knees hit the floor as he tried to take in air that wasn't needed but wanted. Aziraphale was now in front of him. Between him and Gabriel. How on earth did this come to be, he was defending Aziraphale's honour as best that a demon could and now the angel was protecting him.

“You pro-” There was outrage at the fact that an angel was openly protecting a demon written on Gabriel's face.

“Enough. Gabriel, enough. Yes, I stopped your war. Yes, I ruined your plans of having blood-stain your hands and your fancy crisp suit. No smiting, no winning. But that doesn't give you the right to come and throw temper tantrums. Crowley is right, you lost yourself. Since the first – since then, you built yourself up to be this thing that you are now. You used to be just, you used to be kind. You're not anymore. You're empty and perhaps, perhaps you should learn to be softer. Come down to earth, sully your celestial body and learn to be kind again.” Aziraphale spoke, his words sure and his stance confidence in a way that Crowley doesn't always see when faced with superiors.

The archangel seemed lost for words, outraged and shockingly confused. But mostly angry. Crowley, on the other hand, was mostly confused, he was right? About what, everything Aziraphale was saying wasn't what he said. The angel, so trusting and soft was trying his hardest to see past everything. Giving mercy where Crowley doesn't think it's deserved.

“Go. Go for a walk, go have sushi – go learn to be kind again rather than who you are now. Learn to be soft Gabriel.” The like you used to be was unspoken. But Crowley caught it, he catches everything that Aziraphale says and doesn't say.

And for a brief moment, a second if that, he caught a glimpse of a young angel stubbing his toe on a rock and crying while another – comforted. Instinct would tell him that the young angel was Aziraphale, while the other was Gabriel. But how he would know this, how he could have seen this happening was beyond him.

Perhaps it was something to do with who he used to be – whoever that was...

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	6. 76. "You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon Request: Hi! If you’re still taking prompts maybe 76. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” w/Aziraphale as the speaker? :)

Aziraphale was as he would put it, a well put together person who can manage the day to day activity extremely well. Of course, if you were to ask someone else they would tell you he was absentminded or that he was careless, or they would say that he gets wrapped up in his own affairs far too easily. But Aziraphale wasn’t asking anyone else, thank you. If you were to ask Crowley, he would just tell you what you could do with your question and where to put it. To put it kindly.

Crowley was or is a demon, but he was one that Aziraphale cared for deeply. And now that he was no longer working for his superiors he can embrace that fully and with Crowley not working for his superiors, Aziraphale can do so without fear that something will happen to his rather moody companion. Crowley at least was on the same page as he was, they moved in together and it was a lovely home. Plants, books, a kitchen they were still learning how to use. They had friends, humans and one antichrist, but friends all the same. It would be sad to see them go one day, but Aziraphale has long since learned to enjoy the here and now.

And that was what he was trying to do.

Crowley on the other hand -

\- was napping.

At least this time it was just that. A nap. After the airport and the trials, his poor dear was so exhausted he slept for a few weeks only waking up long enough to let Aziraphale pamper him. It was the last few days did Aziraphale realize that it was a slight con, the willy demon was playing him for a sucker just for the sake of getting more attention and care. The cheeky demon that he was.

Things have been good, right up to the last few hours.

It was the second anniversary for Newt and Anathema, two of their very human friends. Aziraphale got himself excited, he could bake them a cake. Crowley didn’t want to help and literally slithered away before Aziraphale could ask. Which is a shame, because it was turning out to be a disaster.

The cake was burnt and the party was starting in less than an hour and he didn’t want to miracle it better. He would know and he would feel bad for it.

And Crowley, well he was still napping. Aziraphale tried to wake him several times. Rushed back to the kitchen to see if he saw wrong and if it wasn’t actually burnt. It was. So back to their shared room once more to see the demon snoring into his pillow and taking up the whole room as he always does. The greedy bed hogging demon. At least it was the bed and not the ceiling this time.

“Crowley! Crowley, you have to wake up.”

No such luck.

Rush back to the kitchen. The cake looked like it was worse off.

Forty five minutes.

With a disappointed look, Aziraphale rushed back to their bedroom and still the same.

“The Bentley is burning! Flames rushing high into the sky!”

Nothing…

And as silly as he knows his reaction is, he couldn’t stop it.

“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” They were supposed to do this together! It was rare that they got a chance to do something quite like this. At least for their friends. For each other on the other hand, they spent a great deal of time fussing. But that was hardly the point. Grabbing the demon’s arm, shaking lightly and repeating himself.

Twenty minutes left, Aziraphale finally woke him up. Of course, by now he worked himself up into a frenzy. Rather than the slow wake up that Crowley normally does, he was wide awake. No doubt responding to Aziraphale’s mood, looking around for danger and the cause of Aziraphale’s distress. Getting out of bed and Aziraphale can finally explain everything. Barely stopping to let Crowley get a word in.

“I tried to do it without you, so you could nap. But I couldn’t! It burnt. Nothing is going right and now we’re going to be late and – and I can’t deliver what I said I would.” Aziraphale was right to be upset. He knows they would be understanding, but Aziraphale could only focus on how he failed. Failed at being a good angel. Failed at baking a -

“Angel! You’re not a failure, never never was a failure. Ever. You are the kindest, gentlest angel out there and anyone with a fraction of a brain should have looked up to you as an example instead of down at you.” Crowley said, words confident and high enough to cut through whatever he was saying. But it did leave Aziraphale with one realization, he said that out loud. Something that got him even more panicked and Crowley, his kind demon took a moment to calm him down. Clean away the tears Aziraphale didn’t know fell and eventually, they made it to the kitchen. He could see that Crowley considered it burnt. Looked at the picture, looked at the burnt misshapen lopsided cake and snapped his fingers.

It was still lopsided and oddly shaped, but it was colourful and it was beautiful. Nobody would believe that a demon was the one who came up with that cake, but then nobody really understood how special Crowley truly was.

“Oh! Oh, you fixed it!” Aziraphale practically swooned, well he would deny that he did, but he was overcome with gratefulness and joy that it looked so lovely thanks to the now bashful demon. Crowley would deny that he was bashful, but Aziraphale could see how heated his face was. Even more so when Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek murmuring another thank you.

“Right, uh, right, sure, yeah… we should get going… right?” Crowley muttered and Aziraphale could only smile and agree. Thankful to have Crowley with him, because this was a mess he didn’t think he could have gotten through without him. There were so many situations like that, and Aziraphale was thankful to have Crowley see him through them all.

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	7. Chapter 7

Crowley was a terrible, horrible demon. And not because he was kind, not because he loved an angel. No, he was terrible and horrible because he was unique and he thought on a scale considerably larger than tempting a single soul. When Crowley did something, he moved with the time and he simply opened doors.

That's all he did. Open doors.

Bringing down London's mobile network. Opening a door for people to be adapting and fine or opening the door for frustration and anger to take over.

Aiding in the design of the M25. Sure it helped in creating a low-level evil, but it also caused a lot of frustration for motorists. Thus, opening a door to be patient or let that frustration take over.

That's all he really has to do, open doors.

And his fellow demons, well they were on a level different than his own – so they couldn't see the bigger picture of what he's done. How efficient his way of doing things truly was. The only downside was that he had a bad habit of falling into the same trap and going through that same door as any human is faced with, but that was beside the point.

He was a terrible, horrible demon. Just not so openly violent, although the instinct was still there.

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	8. Chapter 8

Contrary to some people’s belief, particularly those who live in the same building as his flat, he does eat. Just not regularly and not when on two legs. The only mercy was that it wasn’t a regular feeding, although it could be. But Crowley, he waits until he was nearly starved before giving in to temptation and shedding his human appearance for something more scaly and ominously looking ~~_– don’t listen to Aziraphale, he wasn’t a cute and handsome snake, he was scary and dangerous looking._~~

When he does let himself go, he eats and he eats and mostly he goes to pastures or forests to chase down something to eat and he keeps going until that hunger is satisfied.

And promptly hates that loss of control and that hunger.

He used to turn to alcohol and moody resentment in the days afterwards. But that was before he started to spend more and more time with his angel.

His days spent like that after feedings eventually became less and less especially after Aziraphale figured out that this was the only way he could eat. The angel wouldn’t leave him alone and let him stew in his own resentment, going so far as trying to educate himself on the circle of life and so on – so forth. Which usually end in arguments giving people more reason to suspect they were an old married couple.

Once Aziraphale understood that Crowley couldn’t really taste the food at the restaurants all the while being able to more or less smell it perfectly fine and giving him a vague idea of how it should taste. Sweet. Sour. Spicy. Aziraphale had taken up talking about every bite. Or talking about what he liked best or what was different in the dish or desert compared to other times. The odd time, Crowley would find odd and weird foods for Aziraphale to sample.

Needlessly said, it made things a bit better.

Although, he did still hate the loss of control and has yet to cave to Aziraphale’s idea of him turning into a snake to eat more regularly rather than waiting until he was starving first.

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End file.
